Ellen Tallow
by Whizzothecrunchyfrog
Summary: One account of the people and events from Shakespeare in Love. Pretty much finished at last!
1. In Which We Meet Our Heroine

Chapter one: In which we are introduced to our heroine.  
  
Ellen was a seamstress. She really wanted to be an actor, but the law said that only men could act. Ellen thought it was unfair, but then, she wasn't the queen, so what could she do? Sewing was about the only other thing she felt she was good enough at to make a living. Currently, she was working for the Rose theater, mending and sewing anything that came her way. It was the closest thing to acting work that she could get. Ellen had been working there for a month when Mr. Henslowe, the owner of the theater, came to see her.  
  
"Ellen!" he shouted as he came into the house. Ellen poked her head out from behind the curtain where she was working.  
  
"Yes, Mr. Henslowe?"  
  
"I have brought you an assistant. Ellen, this is Margaret Booker. Margaret, this is Ellen Tallow, our seamstress. A pretty blonde girl with curly hair standing next to Henslowe curtsied. Ellen nodded at her.  
  
"Have you finally gotten that new play to rehearse, Mr. Henslowe?" Ellen asked. Henslowe had been rattling on for weeks on how Will Shakespeare, a young playwright in town, and a constant on-and-off employee of Henslowe's, was writing a new comedy for the actors at the Rose to preform.  
  
"He says that he's working on it," replied Henslowe, "I'm off to check on him. He said he'd have act one finished by today." Ellen surpressed a laugh. She knew Will enough to know that he never got things done when he said they'd be done. He was an artist. He got things done whenever he got the inspiration to get them done.  
  
"You show Margaret the ropes. I need to make sure Will's delivering." And with that, Henslowe popped out the door. Margaret stood blankly in the center of the house. Ellen sighed and came out to meet her.  
  
"Hello. Welcome to the Rose," she said, sticking out a hand to shake. Margaret took it, reluctantly. Clearly, the girl didn't know much else but sewing, if, indeed, she even knew that. But Ellen made it a point that she would be nice to this new girl, even if she was a bit..fluffy.  
  
"Er.what should I do, exactly?" Margaret said daintily.  
  
"First of all, I need to show you around. Even seamstresses need to know where everything is in this theater, or it's likely you'll lose something," Margaret nodded. Ellen showed her the upstairs seating, and around backstage.  
  
"Those stairs lead to the upper part of the stage. There's also a room to the left, but that's master Henslowe's, or master Shakespeare's, when he's here. Margaret nodded again, before asking, softly again,  
  
"Who's master Shakespeare?"  
  
"Ah. Will Shakespeare is a playwright and a poet that master Henslowe hires occasionally to do plays."  
  
"Oh. I never was one for plays," Margaret commented.  
  
"Then why are you here?"  
  
"I just needed the work."  
  
"Ah. Well, if you're going to stay here long, you'll need to learn to like the theater. Here's the mending," Ellen pointed to the gargantuan pile that she'd been working on, "I'll take half and you take half. We usually work until about five o' clock." Ellen handed Margaret a spool of thread, a needle, and some embroidery yarn. Margaret stared at it blankly, as though she didn't know where to begin.  
  
"Well, go to it, girl! You do know how to embroider, don't you?"  
  
"A little bit."  
  
"All right then. Take this, and take half of the mending. We'll make a real seamstress of you yet." So saying, Ellen took hold of her own thread, and began mending where she'd left off. 


	2. In Which People are Met and Arrangements...

Chapter Two: In which People are met, and Arrangements made  
  
The next day, Ellen arrived at the theater before Margaret did. She got inside and began preparing for the day ahead. Doors were opened, and materials moved so that Ellen had everything set up just the way she needed it to work properly. She grabbed a bunch of dresses and began working on them. She'd forgotten completely about having an assistant, until there was a knock on the house doors. "Who is it?" Ellen called out. "Margaret Booker, your new assistant," Margaret replied. "Oh!" Ellen muttered to herself, "I'd nearly forgotten about her," then to Margaret, she shouted, "Come in! It's open!" There was a creak as Margaret entered, and the soft sound of feet upon floorboards. "Good morning, Ellen." "Good morning, Margaret. I've gotten dresses for us to work on today." There was another creak, and Henslowe entered. "ELLEN!" he shouted. "Yes, Mr. Henslowe?" Ellen leaned out of the balcony above the stage. "Will's gotten scene one written! I'm having auditions today! You are to take measurements for the actors that come through. Have you got that?" Ellen nodded. "Got it, Mr. Henslowe. I'll be ready for them." Henslowe nodded, waved, and left. "Well, apparently, we've got something else to do today. And thankful I am for it, too. I was getting tired of mending," Ellen said to Margaret. "Is it always that sudden?" she asked. "Is what always suddnen?" "New orders?" "Let me explain something to you, Margaret. I should have told you this yesterday, lord knows why I forgot, but here it is. Everything in theater is sudden. There is no schedule, other than rehearsals and show time. Anything and everything that happens during and in between those times is completely and utterly unexpected. It's something you'll have to get used to." "But I'm used to scheduling!" complained Margaret. "Too bad. Now, let me show you where we keep the tape measures."  
  
Auditions were held in three hours' time. The place was completely swamped with men auditioning for parts in the new play. Shakespeare himself was sitting in the upper gallery with Henslowe, watching and listening to the people that had shown up. Unfortunately, it was a bit monotonous. All of the actors were reading from Faustus, by Kit Marlowe, and always the same part. It's not that Marlowe was a bad man. He wasn't. It wasn't that Marlowe was a bad playwright. In fact he was one of the best out there. It's just that Will had a twinge of jealousy in him for not having written the crowd-stopper of Faustus that was so popular. But, through it all, he remained polite. That was Will for you. Even when he was annoyed or bored out of his wits, he'd be the nicest and most accomadating that he could be. Backstage, Ellen was frantically measuring up the long line of actors that had auditioned. It wouldn't have been so bad but for Margaret getting butterfingers and messing up measurements. "Oh! I'm horrible!" she said at one point. "No, Margaret, you are not horrible. It's just you're first time. You'll get better," Ellen reassured her. But secretly, she was thinking that Margaret wouldn't last a week if it kept on this way. But, finally, all the actors came through and were measured, and Ellen and Margaret were allowed to relax. Margaret sat down daintily on the floor, trying hard not to let her exhaustion show through. Ellen didn't care. She simply collapsed to the floor. There was a sound behind them, and Ellen whirled around to see a young man with a hat on, who looked slightly nervous, walk past. Ellen readied her measuring tape. There was something different about this one, though she couldn't quite put her finger on it. The young man stepped onto the stage and began to speak. "May I begin, sir?" asked the boy. "Go ahead," groaned Will. "I would like to read from a writer who commands the heart of every player." Will groaned again. "What light is light, if Sylvia be not by? What joy is joy if Sylvia be not seen?" it was from "Two Gentlemen of Verona", one of Will's own plays. Ellen pricked up her ears. "Stop!" Will shouted from the top of the theater, "Take off your hat!" "My hat?" said the boy. "What's your name?" "Thomas Kent, sir." "Let me see your face! Take off your hat!" The young man did not oblige. Instead, he took off running. Will himself ran down and out of the theater. "Excuse me, sir," Ellen raised her tape measure, but the young man, Thomas Kent, was in and out faster than she could finish her sentence. "Is it always like that?" Margaret asked from her place on the floor. "Not usually," Ellen replied, staring after Kent. 


	3. In Which there is a Triumphant Return

Chapter Three: In Which there is a Triumphant Return  
  
"We are doomed," Will muttered to Henslowe the next day. It was the first day of rehearsal for "Romeo and Ethel", the play that Will was supposed to be writing for Henslowe.  
  
"No we're not!" Henslowe hissed urgently back. Will stood back up on stage.  
  
"As to the parts that you will receive, they'll all be handed out in due time," Will told the players. But Mr. Fennyman, the investor for the show, thought otherwise.  
  
"No, I will take charge of this. You." Fennyman was interrupted by a loud bang as the door from the house was thrown open by none other than Ned Alleyn and the admiral's men, the actors who commonly played the theater.  
  
"The admiral's men have returned!" Ned shouted triumphantly. There was a great cheer from the actors assembled, but a great groan from Ellen.  
  
"And so the fool returns," she muttered.  
  
"Who's that?" Margaret asked eagerly.  
  
"That man right there is Ned Alleyn, and a bigger, more pompous idiot you'll never find in all of London. The rest of those men are the actors from the Admiral's Men. They're the ones who usually act out the plays here. They were on tour, but I suppose they're back now."  
  
"That Ned fellow doesn't seem that bad," Margaret noted, picking out a bad stitch. Ellen snorted.  
  
"Just wait until you get to know him. A real charmer, that one."  
  
Out on stage, Mr. Fennyman looked indignantly at the players.  
  
"Who are you?" he asked Ned. In reply, Ned drew his rapier.  
  
"SILENCE, you dog!" he shouted. Then, in a lower voice, continued, "I am Heronimo. I am Faustus," he turned to Will, "Ah, yes, master Will, I am Henry the sixth." Ned turned to Fennyman, irritably, "And who are you?" Fennyman was doing something that Ellen knew was something he'd only do in the presence of someone like Ned. He was cowering.  
  
"Er.I'm the money," he said nervously.  
  
"Then you may stay, as long as you stay silent," Ned commanded, "Now! What is the play, and what is my part?"  
  
"Incredible," Ellen muttered, "Less than ten minutes in a theater and he's in charge."  
  
"Amazing," Margaret said. Ellen rolled her eyes. Training Margaret was going to be even harder than she'd thought.  
  
"It's a tragedy," Will said.  
  
"You mean a comedy!" Henslowe interrupted, but everyone ignored him.  
  
"I am in desperate need of a Mercutio," Will continued.  
  
"And the name of this piece?" Ned asked. Will paused.  
  
"Mercutio," he said. Ned thought for a second before saying,  
  
"I will play." There was another great cheer from the actors assembled, and a smirk from Ellen. Will knew Ned well enough to know he had to be tricked into playing a supporting role.  
  
Ellen and Margaret were still working on the embroidery for the costumes when Ned arrived backstage. Ellen pondered sticking her foot out in front of him, but thought better of it. But she wasn't going to miss a chance to trade insults with him, so she cleared her throat loudly.  
  
"Ellen," Ned nodded.  
  
"Ned," Ellen replied. No formalities here.  
  
"Miss me?" Ned asked sarcastically.  
  
"Quite the opposite. It was so quiet here! Amazing."  
  
"It's nice to be appriciated."  
  
"Excuse me," Maragaret cut in, "But I don't believe we've met." Ellen was surprised. Margaret acting on her own? "I'm Margaret Booker, Ellen's assistant."  
  
"Ah," Ned bowed low, "Ned Alleyn, at your service." He took her hand and kissed it before saying, "A pleasure meeting you, but I'm afraid I must attend to other business." He turned and left. Ellen was sure she heard Margaret give a sigh.  
  
"Good lord, Margaret! How on earth did you get manners out of that wretch?"  
  
"I don't know," Margaret said simply, before returning to her needlework. "Why are you such enemies, anyway?" she asked.  
  
"It's a long story, but we've nothing to do anyway, so I'll tell you." Ellen sighed and then began, "When I first came here as seamstress, I was introduced to all the players, and, in truth, we all got along pretty well. But, for some odd reason, Ned went out of his way to cause trouble for me. He tripped me backstage, berated me, and ultimately made my life miserable. So, I decided to make his miserable. Finally we just settled on trading insults, because it was much less tiring."  
  
"Hmm," Margaret pulled another stitch through the dress she was working on. "Is this all right?"  
  
"Good. Go and put it in the costume room over there." Ellen pointed to the side of the stage. Margaret nodded and headed off in that direction. Ellen felt a hand on her shoulder, and she looked up to see that Will Shakespeare was looking down at her.  
  
"How goes the costumes, Ellen?"  
  
"Fine, thank you master Will, much better now that I have someone to help me."  
  
"Ned's back."  
  
"So I noticed."  
  
"You've talked to him, have you?" he asked. Ellen raised an eyebrow at this.  
  
"What do you think?"  
  
"I think that nothing will ever change between the two of you, unless some divine force comes and strikes down one of you."  
  
"Let it be Ned, Will. It'll be a greater service than either you or I could imagine." "If it must be Ned, let's hope it's not until after the play." Will patted Ellen's shoulder and headed for the stairs. "Right now I've got to start writing act two." Ellen smiled, shook her head, and continued mending the doublet she had in her hands. 


	4. In Which Rehearsals are Under Way

Chapter Four: In which Rehearsals are Under Way  
  
Two days later, rehearsals were well under way. Thomas Kent, the mystery boy who had run off so fast during auditions, was back. He was playing to role of Romeo. Though the play was being practiced, Will was still hard at work on the script. He had given directions to Ned to oversee production while he was busy with the writing.  
  
Ned stood to the side of the stage, watching as the dancers went about on the stage for the scene at the Capulet party. Thomas Kent, who was playing Romeo, as well as Sam, one of the admiral's men, who was playing Juliet, were dancing, as well as some others. "Gentlemen upstage, ladies downstage," Ned directed, in time to the music. The actors tried to obey, but it seemed as though Thomas and Sam were having some trouble. Ned called out again, "Gentlemen upstage, ladies downstage, are you a lady, Mr. KENT?" the music stopped. Thomas looked sheepishly at the floor. Ellen watched all of this from the area above the stage, where she was working on the costumes. She was nearly done with the Montague costumes, which were some of the hardest, since they all had to be exactly the same. She felt just a bit sorry for Thomas, though it was his fault that they'd had to start over down below.  
  
"All right, start again, from the top!" Ned grumbled impatiently. Everyone did it right this time.  
  
"Will!" Ned walked to the edge of the stage to talk to Shakespeare, who had just come out from backstage.  
  
"Something wrong, Ned?"  
  
"No no. The speech here, is wonderful. 'Oh, I see Queen Mab hath been with you.' It's dramatic, and a goodly length. But then he disappears for the space of a bible." Will smiled and held up another handful of pages.  
  
"Ah, but here. You'll like this. Such a stage fight as you never saw before! He dies with such passion! 'A plague on both your houses!'" He smiled and walked off.  
  
"He dies?" Ned pondered aloud as Will walked off. Backstage, Ellen smiled. Good job, Will," she thought. It was about time somebody killed one of Ned's characters off.  
  
The next day, the first kissing scene between Romeo and Juliet was being rehearsed. Sam and Thomas stood, reciting their lines to one another. Sam said his line, but there was a pause. Thomas seemed distracted, as though he were looking at something else.  
  
"It's your line," prompted Sam. Thomas snapped back to reality.  
  
"Suffering cats!" Ned groaned loudly from stage left. Ellen, who was sitting backstage on the lower level today, muttered as she sewed.  
  
"Let them be, Ned. The play is far from finished."  
  
"I don't see you on the stage. This is none of your business, Shrew."  
  
"No more than it is yours, Donkey."  
  
"Wench."  
  
"Womanizer."  
  
"I'm just going to pretend I didn't hear that." Ned looked back at the action taking place on stage. They were at the kissing part. Margaret nudged Ellen.  
  
"You shouldn't be so hard on him, Ellen."  
  
"You don't know that fool like I do," Ellen whispered back.  
  
"No no! It's not done like that. Like this!" Will ran up to the stage to interrupt Thomas and Sam. "Say your line again, master Kent." Thomas said his line, and Will planted a great smack that was nearly ten times greater than the one demonstrated on stage.  
  
"See if you can do it more like that," he said, then ran to the upstairs room to do some writing.  
  
"Lucky you were here, Will," Ned called as Will left, "We might be doing everything wrong." Ellen rolled her eyes. She was going to make a comment, but he'd left already. He looked as though he, too, were headed to the upstairs room.  
  
"Keep working, Margaret, I need to go and check on something," Ellen said, setting down her mending. She kept close but silent behind Ned. Was he going to confront Will about the display onstage? After all, his behavior had been a little, well, odd. Or did Ned think the play was bad? Was he pulling out? Ellen didn't like Ned, but he couldn't leave. Not now, while the players and Will still needed him. Ellen crept up by the stairs. The door was wide open so that she could hear the conversation.  
  
"Will," started Ned,  
  
"I know, I know, it's terrible," Will said.  
  
"No, I think it's quite good. But the title. Romeo and Juliet. How's that for a title?" Ellen was surprised. Ned being modest? She tried and tried to picture it, but, for some reason, she couldn't see it.  
  
"You are a gentleman, Ned," Will sounded just as surprised as Ellen. Ned turned and walked down the stairs, but replied,  
  
"And you are a Warwickshire shithouse."  
  
Ellen sniggered, and stepped to the side so that he wouldn't see her. She watched as he approached Margaret. They were talking about something or other. Margaret laughed. Then Ned did something that Ellen had never thought him capable of. He leaned over, and kissed Margaret on the cheek! Ellen felt color rising in her face, but she pushed it down. Somehow she didn't like seeing that, but she wasn't about to let it get in the way of her work. Ellen approached Margaret, and acted as though nothing had happened. What was wrong with her? 


	5. In Which There Is a Brawl

Chapter 5: In Which There is a Brawl  
  
In the days that followed, Ellen tried her best to completely forget all about what she had seen. Four days later, she had all but put it out of her head. At least she would have if Margaret had stopped talking about Ned morning noon and night. It was enough to drive Ellen up the wall. She didn't give a fig about what innuendo Ned had mentioned, or what his views were on this or that. She couldn't have cared less, truth be told. But Margaret, being the fluff that she was, wasn't about to notice. After a while, Ellen just tuned her out. And then came a day when everything took a very big turn. It all started out with rehearsal four days after Ellen saw the encounter between Ned and Margaret.  
  
"By my head, here come the capulets!" said George Bryan, the actor who was playing Benvolio.  
  
"By my heel, I care not," Ned replied. James Armitage, the actor who played Tybalt, separated himself from the group of extras that played the Capulets.  
  
"Gentlemen," he said, deepening his voice to such a low level that Ellen had to stifle a sarcastic snigger backstage, "A word with one of you." Instead of replying, Ned broke character.  
  
"Are you going to do it like that?" he asked, in the innocent but jerky way that one might expect him to react. Margaret giggled. Ellen rolled her eyes, but couldn't wipe the smirk off of her face. Everyone backed off and began once more.  
  
"By my head, here come the Capulets," George repeated.  
  
"By my heel, I care not," Ned replied once more. There was a loud bang, and the house door opened. Ignoring this, the men continued on with their show. Ellen cautiously poked her head out from behind the curtains to see a glowering and very angry Richard Burbage. Ellen had seen him once or twice, and she'd found out well enough on those previous occasions that you did not want to cross Richard Burbage unless you were either very strong, or looking for an early death. Judging by his glare, Burbage definitely looked crossed.  
  
"WHERE IS THIS ROBBER, WHO CANNOT KEEP HIS QUILL IN HIS OWN INKPOT??" he raged, as a few actors from the chamberlain's men trailed in behind him. Will, who was standing to the side of the stage, jumped down, a perplexed and rather annoyed look on his face.  
  
"What's the meaning of this?" he asked, looking Burbage up and down. In reply, Burbage drew his sword.  
  
"DRAW! Draw if you be a man!" there was a similar sound of steel as the Chamberlain's men, as well as the actors on stage, drew their own swords. All of a sudden, Burbage ran savagely at Will, who stepped aside as he drew his own sword, tripping Burbage. This set the room off in an absolute rampage.  
  
"What's going on?" Margaret said in a high-pitched voice that made her sound like a frightened mouse. Ellen rolled her eyes. Margaret could not be involved in a brawl. The results might be tragic.  
  
"It's a brawl. Happens all the time. Just go upstairs, and stay there until I say you can come out."  
  
"But what." Margaret trailed off as Ellen shoved her up the stairs and into Will's office. Ellen grabbed a chair from inside the room, and shut the door, propping the chair underneath the doorknob so that it couldn't be opened from the inside. She wasn't taking any chances.  
  
Ellen arrived downstairs to find an absolute bedlam. Swords were all but forgotten for more creative weapons, such as planks, dowels and fists. There was a ripping sound, and she turned in the direction of the costume room. One of the dresses she'd tailored herself was being ripped apart. That did it for Ellen. She'd worked hard on that dress, and the idiot that destroyed her art was going to pay. She got her chance when the idiot made his way over to Ned, who was fighting off a pair of the Chamberlain's Men right below her, so she had a direct view of everyone's heads. The idiot shoved the other two actors aside, and was about to pull a punch on Ned, when Ellen yanked off her shoe, for lack of anything else, and whacked the idiot on the head. He looked up, blankly, and looked about to get at her, when she whacked him again, harder. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell unconsious to the floor. Ned looked up, gratefully.  
  
"Not for you," Ellen said, "For my costumes. You just got lucky."  
  
"You are a shrew, madam," Ned shot back. Ellen raised her shoe in reply.  
  
"This shoe has whacked nobler heads than yours, Ned Alleyn."  
  
"Pah!" he waved a hand in her face and moved on. Ellen shrugged her shoulders, and was about to move on herself, when there was a great hollow clonking sound from the stage, followed by a thump and a resounding cheer. Ellen ran to the stage, to see what had happened.  
  
When Ellen got to the stage, the first thing she noticed was that little white feathers were drifting around the stage like newfallen snow. Mr. Fennyman stood on the edge of the stage, holding a skull in his hand, standing over an unconsious Burbage, who had a slightly purple lump forming on the top of his head. The Chamberlain's men regrouped and retreated, carrying the fallen Burbage with them.  
  
"Ooh," Ned commented, "He's going to feel that one in the morning." Ellen looked around to see what had caused the flying of the feathers. Low and behold, it was the mattress that she'd sewn for Juliet's balcony. Another piece of labor, ripped to shreds.  
  
"Have they any care for the work I have to go through?" she said, exasperated.  
  
"No, and neither have I," Ned cut in.  
  
"Die and and may the devil take you, Ned."  
  
"Aye, and what would he do with me?"  
  
"If he had any sense, he'd cut out your tongue, and maybe your eyes as well." By this time, Burbage's men had left, and several of the actors were watching the argument with some amusement. Will came to the rescue by jumping in.  
  
"All right! That's over, so back we go to rehearsal!" Everyone nodded and dispersed to their separate places. Ned watched Ellen go backstage, glaring daggers at her all the way. She'd gotten the last word in this battle of wits, but never again. Of that he would make sure. 


	6. In Which there is Sobering News

Chapter 6: In Which there is Sobering News  
  
Later that night, everyone went to the Boar's Head, a local tavern, to get drunk and rejoice about their victory over the Chamberlain's Men. Margaret, however, did not go, because she did not like the prospect of drinking. Secretly, Ellen was glad to be rid of her for a while. Most of the men, Ned included, snuk off with the tavern girls to have some fun, while others grouped around tables getting drunk out of their minds. Will and Thomas Kent were sitting across from each other, which Ellen found just a tad strange. She knew Will was married and had children, and she also knew that he got around, since his wife and children were in Stratford, and he was in London. Still, women were one thing, but men were quite another. However, this observation was quickly forgotten after many pints of ale. After about an hour, Mr. Fennyman, who was about as drunk as any of the men there, stood atop a table, and made an announcement.  
  
"I have an announcement to make!" he shouted, "Master Shakespeare has offered me the part of the apothecary in his new play!" all this he said while teetering clumsily.  
  
"The apothecary?" laughed Mr. Henslowe, "Will, you must give us comedy and a dog in your play, or we shall have to send you back to Stratford to your wife!" There was raucous drunken laughter after this. Then Thomas got up and quickly walked out of the tavern. Ellen would have thought this to be strange behavior, but she was too drunk to notice. All of a sudden, Henry Condell, one of the actors, burst into the tavern.  
  
"Kit Marlowe is dead!" he shouted, desparingly. Every head in the room turned to Henry.  
  
"He's been killed in a tavern brawl up north of here!" The room fell dead silent. Ned Alleyn, who had appeared in the stairwell the second Marlowe's death had been announced, looked absolutely shocked.  
  
"Marlowe gave me one of my first parts. A great light has gone out." As soon as he said this, an ashen Will Shakespeare ran out of the tavern and into the rain.  
  
"Good Lord!" Ellen gasped, letting the reality of what had happened sink in. She put a hand over her mouth. It was, indeed, hard to believe. Kit Marlowe, the author of Faustus, the playwright who had been so enormously popular in recent weeks, was no longer alive. And he had been so young! At the very least he had been 25, only six years older than Ellen herself. Ellen ran a hand through her red hair, a hard knot of exasperation forming in her stomach. She watched as Ned put on his jacket and left the tavern. Ellen then got up and left herself. She didn't know exactly why, but she felt some sympathy for Ned, and wished to tell him so.  
  
As soon as Ellen stepped outside, she was completely soaked from the downpour of rain that had been falling throughout the evening.  
  
"NED!" she shouted. Ned turned around, saw who it was, and continued walking. Ellen ran and caught up to him.  
  
"Ned, look, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry."  
  
"I don't need your pity, Shrew," Ned grumbled angrily, and continued walking.  
  
"Come on, Ned! For once in your life, don't be so thick! I'm only trying to be nice to you!"  
  
"Leave me alone, Ellen! I've already told you, you're pity's not welcome here. You'll get no friendship out of me."  
  
"Ned, why do you hate me so much?" but Ned didn't answer. He was already gone. Ellen watched him as he left. Couldn't he at least try to realize when she was trying to be nice to him? Why did he have to be so pompous all the time? He was no better than she was. Finally, Ellen decided she wasn't going to take it. She ran again, and caught up with Ned.  
  
"Look, you pompous fool!" she said to him, "I've asked you a question. Answer me!" Ned remained silent. "Come on! Say something! Why do you hate me so much? Why do you always have to be so much more rude to me than to the other players?" Ned whirled around on her.  
  
"Do you want to know why? All right, I'll tell you. I can't stand you because you're the only person who's ever talked back to me. You're always ready with a shrewish comment to throw back at me. In truth? I can't stand you because you're too smart."  
  
"What? Do you wish all your women to be as Margaret is? Silent, simple, and stupid? Someone who doesn't like theater, but who thinks the sun rises and sets in your britches?" Ned paused, and looked at Ellen, perplexed. "Margaret? You think I love Margaret? She's a painted doll! She is only for looks."  
  
"Then who do you love, Ned? Tell me. Is it truly possible for you to love someone else more than you love yourself?" Ned turned his back on Ellen.  
  
"I have said too much," he said, and walked away. Ellen shook her head and walked in the opposite direction. 


	7. In Which Truces are Made

Chapter Seven: In which Truces are Made  
  
The next day was Marlowe's service. A few of the actors went, though most didn't. Ellen decided to go. Even if she had met Marlowe but once. She had found him to be a nice fellow that one time, and that was all that mattered to her. At the service, Ellen stood to the side, with the rest of the mourners. Young boys in bright red robes and skull caps came walking reverently down the asiles, singing in latin. Everywhere there was the sound of sniffling or crying. After the boys came a young woman and her nurse, mourners who were late. Another, slightly older man watched them coldly, while he stood on the other side, a smirk upon his face. There was something strange about the young woman, something familiar that Ellen couldn't quite place. The man however, smirked only for a short time. His face grew long and ashen, and he began to shout.  
  
"Spare me, dear ghost! Spare me!" he yelled, and ran out of the church. Ellen didn't understand why, for it was only Will Shakespeare that stood behind her, where the man had been staring, and not Marlowe. True, Will did look a bit pale, but certainly not ghostly. The young woman that Ellen had been watching tore away from the crowd and moved softly behind everyone, to where Will had been standing, and she, too, left the church. This was getting to be too curious for Ellen to take. She quietly said a quick prayer for Marlowe's soul, and then she left as well, being as quiet as humanly possible, so as not to be noticed.  
  
Ellen found them standing off to the side of the sanctuary, in the hallway reserved for confessions. Both Will and the young woman embraced. "Oh, Will," said the young woman, "I thought you were dead!" As soon as the young woman spoke, Ellen knew where she'd known this woman from. She was Thomas Kent.  
  
" 'Tis worse," Will replied, looking absolutely and deadly serious, "I've killed a man." Ellen didn't wait to hear anything more. She turned from the scene and went back into the sanctuary, where a priest had begun chanting. This was a mystery indeed. What on earth did Will mean by saying that he'd killed a man? He couldn't possibly have killed Marlowe, since he'd been at the Boar's Head with them all night long. Besides, though he'd always been envious, Will wasn't one to kill a fellow playwright. It simply wasn't done. And why was the young woman dressing as Thomas Kent at the playhouse? Many questions ran through Ellen's mind as the service continued. But right now she needed to talk to Ned. She'd made a decision the night before that she needed to discuss with him. Sure enough, Ellen found her man standing near the edge of the mourning group. She edged over to him.  
  
"Ellen,"  
  
"Ned,"  
  
"Do you have a reason for coming over here?"  
  
"Yes. There's something that I've been meaning to talk to you about."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Aye. I've been thinking it over for a while, and I've decided that we shouldn't fight like this anymore."  
  
"You mean call a truce?"  
  
"That's right. No more name calling and insulting unless it's meant as a joke. In light of recent circumstances, it only seems right." Ned pondered this for a moment.  
  
"I will agree."  
  
"Good."  
  
"On one condition."  
  
"And what is that?" Ellen asked. It was never enough for him. He always had to have something more.  
  
" That you completely forget anything that was said or done last night. We were all drunk, none of us knew what we were doing."  
  
"That includes what happened in the tavern with the women?"  
  
"Including the women, yes."  
  
"I can agree to that."  
  
"Good." Ned stuck out his hand, and Ellen shook it. And that was that. They were fighting no longer.  
  
But Ellen found it tempting not to bring up the subject, especially around Margaret, who still refused to talk of anyone or anything else besides Ned. It had been getting harder and harder to tune her out lately. Ellen just wanted to see if Margaret might give up on him if she told her that Ned was a womanizer. But she remembered the truce, and kept silent. 


	8. In Which There is a Fight and a Revelati...

Chapter Eight: In Which There is a Fight and a Revelation  
  
It was two days after Marlowe's service. Will gathered the actors around the stage, for today was the day that he'd finally finished the play. He explained the rest of the plot to the actors, while Margaret and Ellen listened backstage.  
  
"Romeo kills Tybalt, who killed Romeo's good friend Mercutio. Romeo is banished. The friar that married them, that's you, Edward, gives Juliet a potion. It will make her seeming dead. After fourty two hours, she will awake in the Capulet tomb, and Romeo will come to get her." The actors gave satisfied nods of approval.  
  
"I have not said all," Will continued, "The message telling Romeo of the Friar's plan goes astray. He hears only that Juliet is dead. He seeks an apothecary, from whom he buys a deadly poison."  
  
"That's me," Mr. Fennyman said quietly.  
  
"When he arrives at the Capulet tomb, he takes the poison, and he dies by her side. Then, Juliet awakes, and, seeing her true love is dead, takes his knife, and kills herself." There was silence. Finally, Henslowe spoke.  
  
"Well, that will have them rolling in the asiles!"  
  
"I have a blue cap that I think I should use for my part," Fennyman said, "I've seen such a cap on an apothecary." There was another awkward silence. Then Ned spoke.  
  
" 'Twill serve," he said, "But there's a scene missing, between banishment and death." Will smiled.  
  
"So there is, Ned. Thank you."  
  
Later that day, Thomas and Sam were practicing on stage. Ellen and Margaret were backstage putting the finishing touches on the Montague doublets, which were very nearly finished. They were grand things, blue with silver embroidery. The sleeve had a sort of cape at the elbow. Ellen was working on the hem when the door slammed open. The man from Marlowe's service, who was dressed very frivolously, stepped inside. He was wearing a green suit, with a matching hat perched precariously on his head. It bobbed as he walked.  
  
"SHAKESPEARE!" the man shouted.  
  
"Oh no, not again," Ellen muttered.  
  
"What?" Margaret looked up blankly.  
  
"See for yourself," Ellen indicated the house. The cocky man drew his rapier. Will apparently recognized the man as well, apparently, because he drew his as well. The man charged at Will, who fended him off. All the actors standing in the house stepped backwards to give them room. Thomas and Sam, lines all but forgotten, stood on the stage, watching the duel. Thomas, or whatever her name was, had a look of shock written upon her face. Ellen had still not forgotten seeing her at Marlowe's service. She still remembered that Thomas was not Thomas, but a woman.  
  
The fight had moved to the stage. "Out of the way!" shouted Will to Thomas and Sam, who backed off. The stranger knocked the rapier from Will's hand, a look of triumph on his face. Margaret covered her face with her hands. Ellen clutched the curtain nervously. Will pulled out a dagger, and grabbed a prop, a rattle, from the stage. he shook it as he stood. The stranger put his rapier to Will's throat. Will himself continued to back up to the edge of the stage. Then he fell, banging his chin on the stage, and Thomas gasped. The strange man jumped off the stage and stood over Will, who whacked the rapier from his hand and broke it in two, knocking his attacker over with it. He then drew his dagger and held it to the stranger's throat.  
  
"To absent friends," he murmured, and then shouted, "This is the murderer of Kit Marlowe!" Ellen frowned. She had not thought that a nobleman would have had any relations with a playwright. The stranger spoke, nervously.  
  
"I rejoiced in his death because I thought it was yours, that is all I know of Marlowe!" He tried to scuttle over to the door. Ned stepped forward.  
  
"Will, it's true. Kit was killed in a tavern brawl. He got his own knife in the eye. It was over the bill."  
  
"The bill?" Henslowe interjected, "Oh! Vanity, vanity!"  
  
"Not the billing, the bill!" Ned corrected.  
  
"Oh thank God," Will stood up, "I am free of it!" The stranger stood up and backed towards the door, just as the master of the Revels, Mr. Tilney, came in.  
  
"Tilney!" exclaimed the stranger, "Close this theater! Take it down stone by stone, I want to smash it into the ground!" with this, he stormed outside. Tilney came onto the stage. He was followed closely by a little boy, who Ellen recognized as one of the auditioners who hadn't been chosen for the play. All of the actors were onstage now, and Ellen left backstage, Margaret following her. They stood to the side.  
  
"Who's that?" she asked.  
  
"I'll tell you later."  
  
"Well, why's he here?"  
  
"I don't know, Margaret. Be quiet!" Ellen hissed.  
  
"This theater is closed!" Tilney said.  
  
"Why, may I ask, sir?" Mr. Henslowe inquired, nervously.  
  
"For displaying a woman on the public stage!" Tilney walked over to Sam and threw his skirts up over his head. Everyone looked at him strangely. Ned raised an eyebrow. There was a high shriek from Thomas, as though something had been dropped down her back. She rubbed her hands back and forth through her wig to get whatever it was out, and the wig fell off, revealing her long blonde hair.  
  
"Not him," said the ugly little boy, "Her!" he pointed at Thomas. Tilney turned a very bright shade of red before saying,  
  
"That's who I meant." He stormed off the stage. "Notice will be posted!" he added. Ellen bit her lip. She knew the second she'd seen the woman at Marlowe's service that the charade of Thomas Kent was not going to last long. Everyone looked at Thomas in disbelief. It was at this time that Mr. Fennyman chose to make his appearance.  
  
"Everything all right?" he asked, and then saw Thomas. "Oh." Ned glanced at Henslowe.  
  
"Ned, I swear, I knew nothing of this," Henslowe said, in an effort to keep him from doing something impulsive.  
  
"Nobody knew," Thomas said.  
  
"He knew," the ugly boy said. Ellen groaned. Hadn't he left yet? But the boy was not finished speaking.  
  
"I saw him, kissin' her!" Everyone looked at Will, who glared at the little boy. Ellen felt like throttling the little urchin.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Henslowe," Thomas apologized. "I'm so sorry, Will." she looked around, and left. As she left, Ned took his copy of the play and ripped it up, throwing it in Will's face.  
  
"Come on," Ellen tugged at Margaret's sleeve, "We've got some costumes to clean up."  
  
"You said you'd tell me who that man was," Margaret said, grabbing a dress and taking it to the costume room.  
  
"It hardly matters now, does it?" Ellen snapped, "The play's over! Done with!"  
  
"You mean it won't be preformed?"  
  
"That's right, brainy one. The theater's been closed, therefore there will be no play."  
  
"Then there's no need for me?"  
  
"If you feel that way, then I would guess so," Ellen said angrily.  
  
"Then I suppose I'll leave," Margaret sighed. Ellen gritted her teeth.  
  
"Did this mean nothing to you?" she asked, "Did nothing here interest you whatsoever?"  
  
"No, not really," Margaret sighed again.  
  
"What about Ned? You liked him so much." Ellen folded a doublet.  
  
"I suppose I liked him, for a while," Margaret said absentmindedly.  
  
"You talked of nothing else,"  
  
"Did I? Ah well."  
  
"Look, has something happened to you?"  
  
"My father announced to me this morning that he was marrying me off to a cloth merchant in Dover."  
  
"Dover? Just so sudden? Just like that?" Ellen asked, drop-jawed.  
  
"I had met the man a couple of times, but Father mentioned nothing of marriage until this morning."  
  
"When do you leave?"  
  
"I marry two weeks from Sunday."  
  
"So you're quitting? Just like that?"  
  
"I have to," Margaret handed Ellen her spool of thread and her needle. "It's been wonderful working here, but I'm not needed anymore. Goodbye, Ellen," she said. Ellen shook her hand.  
  
"Goodbye, Margaret."  
  
Ellen folded the last tunic and left the costume room. The actors were saying their goodbyes to the theater. It would have been the first ever preformance that some of them had ever had. Ellen sniffed. Sure, she would always have a job here, but this had been a special job. So many things had happened. The show would have been wonderful. 


	9. In Which There is a Pleasant Surprise

Chapter Nine: In Which there is a Pleasant Surprise  
  
Everyone gathered in the Boar's Head afterwards, for a bit of sympathy drinking. Ellen sat next to Ned, and watched as he peered into his drink.  
  
"I would have been great," muttered Fennyman to himself.  
  
"We all would have been great," replied Ralph, his speech slurred with inebriation. He promptly passed out.  
  
"You all would have loved your costumes," Ellen muttered. The door opened, and Richard Burbage came in, followed by the Chamberlain's Men. He had his arm in a sling from the brawl four days ago. Everyone stood up. Burbage took a deep breath and began to speak.  
  
"The master of the revels despises us all for vagrants and peddlers of bombast. But my father, James Burbage, had the first license to make a company of players from Her Majesty, and he drew from poets, the literature of the age. We must show them that we are men of parts. Will Shakespeare has a play. I have a theater. The Curtain is yours." Everyone looked at Burbage in amazement. The show would go on after all! Henslowe got up and shook Burbage's hand, thanking him time and time again. Ellen smiled. She'd need to ready the costumes for the move to their new temporary home. 


	10. In Which the Play is Preformed

Chapter Ten: In Which the Play is Preformed  
  
Rehearsals continued at The Curtain until Sunday, which was the day of the first preformance. Since he was the only person available who knew the lines, Will took the place of Thomas as Romeo. Everyone was excited backstage. Ellen presented everyone with their costumes, which they seemed to be very pleased with.  
  
"What d'you think of the costumes, Ned?" Ellen asked, handing him his. Though the character of Mercutio was neither a member of the Capulet or Montague families, Ellen had made a Montague doublet, to save work.  
  
"Well made, though I think I see a flaw," Ellen elbowed him playfully.  
  
"I suppose any compliment out of you, however small, is to be appriciated." Ellen grinned.  
  
"Where has Margaret been these few days?"  
  
"She left when the theater closed."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Firstly, she didn't think she was needed here anymore, and secondly, her father told her that morning that she was to be married to a cloth merchant from Dover a week from today."  
  
"Oh." Ellen could tell Ned felt slightly embarrassed about having flirted with Margaret before. There was noise to their left, and they looked to see Will and Sam discussing something.  
  
"It's not my fault, master Shakespeare, I could do it yesterday," Sam protested. Ellen gasped. Sam's voice had finally changed. He now sounded more like a deep-voiced man, and less like the high-pitched young lady he was to play.  
  
"Oh, God, we are doomed!" Ned grumbled.  
  
"Not to worry, Ned. All will turn out well," Ellen reassured him, though, in truth, she wasn't so sure herself.  
  
"How, might I ask?"  
  
"I, er, I don't know. It's a mystery." Ellen smiled nervously, as Henslowe brushed past.  
  
"What time is it?" Ned wondered aloud. In answer, the bells from the church rang three times. It was time for the play to begin. Juliet or no Juliet, the show would have to continue. Ned got up to signal the theater's trumpeters to begin playing. This signified the beginning of the show. The curtains opened, and Will shoved Mr. Wabash, the narrator, on. He was wearing a purple suit with a four-cornered hat, a costume that Ellen was particularly proud of. The only problem was that Mr. Wabash had a terrible stutter. Ellen gritted her teeth and prayed silently that he wouldn't screw up.  
  
"Tuh-tuh," stuttered Wabash. Ellen dropped her head into her palm. The whole show down the tubes. This was the beginning of the end. Outside, some of the crowd began tittering.  
  
"Tuh, tuh," Wabash tried again, failing pitifully, and then, miraculously, it came out.  
  
"Two households," he burst out, "Both alike in dignity. From old grudge break forth new mutiny, where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From this fray, a pair of star-crossed lovers take their lives, and, with their death, doth bury their parents' strife!" Wabash continued. Everyone's looks of doom and gloom broke and faded into smiles of happy relief. The only other problem was Sam. But that wasn't for another twenty pages, and Ellen hoped that Henslowe could find a replacement Juliet by that time.  
  
"Come on, Henslowe!" Ellen whispered frantically.  
  
"Why do you care so much?" Ned asked.  
  
"I may only be the costumer, but I'm still a part of this, Ned. I want to see it off right," she replied, "besides, you're my friend now. I don't wish you ill any longer. You know that."  
  
"Hmm. Friend. Odd word, that," Ned mused.  
  
"Very funny, Mercutio. Better to shut your mouth for once and watch the stage. You wouldn't want to miss you cue," Ellen paused a second, "Would you?"  
  
"Of course not." There was a stirring backstage, and Henslowe appeared, and with him was none other than the young woman who had masqueraded as Thomas Kent.  
  
"Is that?" Ellen started.  
  
"It is. A woman. We are doomed!"  
  
"But she'll know the lines, Ned!"  
  
"That doesn't matter. Even if we do a good preformance, according to the law, we're headed for jail!"  
  
"Ah. A minor drawback, yes. We should enjoy our freedom while we still can." Onstage, the nurse and lady Capulet were talking.  
  
"What lark?" Ralph called out, "What ladybird? Juliet?" Henslowe pushed Sam out of the way, and pushed Thomas on.  
  
"How now, nurse? Who calls?" Everyone was deathly silent. Even the actors on stage were absolutely shocked.  
  
"Your mo-," Ralph forgot himself, and then corrected himself, using his falsetto voice, "Your mother." The scene continued flawlessly. Burbage stood next to Henslowe backstage.  
  
"They'll throw us in the clinks!" he exclaimed.  
  
"See you in jail, then," Henslowe replied, and they left.  
  
"Next scene is mine," Ned got up.  
  
"Break a leg, Ned," Ellen whispered, He nodded, and then joined Will at the side of the stage.  
  
Everything else continued in a blur. The dancing, the balcony scene, the marriage of Romeo and Juliet, and then, Ned's death scene.  
  
"By my head, here come the Capulets," George said. Ellen had heard these lines a thousand times before, but she felt as though she were hearing them again for the first time.  
  
"By my heel," Ned replied, "I care not."  
  
"Gentlemen!" Armitage said, still in his deep manly voice that he put on for this part, "A word with one of you."  
  
"A word with one of us? Nay sir, let's make it a word and a blow."  
  
"Mercutio, thou consortest with Romeo." And so it went on. Then Will appeared, and the fighting began.  
  
"Good Mercutio, no!" Will shouted, coming between Ned and Armitage. As rehearsed, Ned got stabbed, and fell against one of the supporting columns of the stage. Will ran to him.  
  
"Courage, man! The hurt cannot be much!"  
  
"Nay, 'tis a scratch, but 'twill serve. Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man," Ned pretended to gasp for breath. There was a pause, and then,  
  
"A PLAGUE on both your houses!" Ned shouted, "They have made worms' meat of me!" and then he died. Will, in a rage, got up to challenge Armitage.  
  
"Tybalt! Mercutio's soul is but a little way above our heads! Draw if you be a man!" and they went at it. A couple of times, Armitage stabbed at Will, then raised his hands above his head in a triumphant stance, to the booing of the groundlings that stood below. Will stabbed him back, at last, and Armitage fell to the ground, pretending to bleed. Then he died. All of the other Montague kinsmen retreated, carrying Ned with them. But George stayed with Will.  
  
Ellen watched as they carried Ned off stage."How was it?" he asked when they had set him down.  
  
"Well, it was all right, I guess." Ned pulled out the blunted rapier he'd been using on stage.  
  
"The truth now, or I shall run you through."  
  
"Ned, that's blunted."  
  
"So it is. Tell me how I did."  
  
"In truth? You did a wonderful job. I never thought I'd see you in a smaller part than lead, but you did well." They sat backstage and listened intently to the dialogue. With Will and Thomas playing the main parts, there was more beauty in it than there had ever been in rehearsals. Finally came the last scene, where both Romeo and Juliet were in the tomb together. Romeo took the poison that the Apothecary, Mr. Fennyman, had given him.  
  
"Here's to my love!" shouted Will. He lifted the vial high, and took the poison.  
  
"True, Apothecary," Will strained, truly sounding as though he had taken poison, "Thy drugs are quick." he leaned over and kissed Juliet softly. "Thus with a kiss, I die," he said, and lay down, twitching a bit before actually dying. And then, there was a gasp from the crowd. Juliet had awaken.  
  
"Where is my love?" she asked, "I remember well where I should be, and there I am. Where is my Romeo?" There was a call from the audience.  
  
"Dead!" cried a single, desparing voice. Juliet turned around to see Romeo dead.  
  
"What's this? A cup, closed in my true love's hand? Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end." she paused for a moment, and then there was a sound of steel as she raised Romeo's dagger, as well as a gasp from the crowd.  
  
"Oh, happy dagger!" she cried desparingly, "This is they sheath!" Juliet stabbed herself in the stomach, and a red scarf came tumbling out, resembling blood. Ellen smirked, proudly. That part had been her idea.  
  
"There rust," continued Juliet, "and let me die." she collapsed, dead. The room lay dead silent. Then, Wabash reappeared, and made his closing speech.  
  
"Some are pardoned, some punished. For never was a story of more woe, than that of Juliet, and her Romeo." He bowed low. The play was finished. There was absolute silence. And then, a single clap from the audience, followed by peals of applause and cheering. They loved it! The crowd loved the play! Ellen couldn't wipe the grin off of her face. Ned sat, amazed. 


	11. In Which Everything ends, or Does It?

Chapter Eleven: In Which Everything Ends  
  
"Go on then!" Ellen pushed him, "Go on! take your bows!" Ned got up, and took bows with the rest of the players. There was a whistle, and, although Ellen couldn't see, she knew it was Henslowe. But then, it all turned black. Through the back door of the theater, flanked by guards, came none other than Mr. Tilney. But Ellen wasn't about to let him past.  
  
"Mr. Tilney, I beseech you, don't go out there," she tried.  
  
"Stand aside, you insolent girl!" Tilney brushed past her and came out on the stage. The guards stamped their spear butts on the floor twice, and chanted, "God save the queen!" and there was silence. Ellen edged on stage. Ned caught her eye, and frowned. Ellen shrugged helplessly.  
  
"I arrest you all in the name of Queen Elizabeth!" announced Tilney.  
  
"Arrest, who, sir?" Richard Burbage stormed through the crowd and onto the stage.  
  
"All of you! The Admiral's Men, The Chamberlain's Men, your writer, your seamstress," he indicated Ellen, "and all of you involved in this public display of disrespect!" He shouted.  
  
"And why?" Burbage asked, though everyone knew very well why.  
  
"That woman is a woman!" he shouted, pointing at Ralph, though he meant to point at Thomas.  
  
"What?" Ned asked, "That goat?" Ralph looked taken aback. Ellen giggled, but stopped when someone else interjected.  
  
"Mr. Tilney!" shouted Queen Elizabeth, "Have a care with my name, you will wear it out." Everyone bowed low as the Queen approached the stage.  
  
"I do not attend public displays of disrespect," Queen Elizabeth said, "So something is out of joint. Master Kent, come here." Thomas stepped forward and bowed low, in the actor's stance.  
  
"Yes, the allusion is remarkable," said the Queen, "But I know something of a woman in a man's profession. Yes, by God I do. That's quite enough from you, Master Kent." Thomas stepped back.  
  
"And master Shakespeare," she said to Will, "Next time you come to Whitehall, come as yourself, and we shall talk some more." Ellen raised an eyebrow. What on earth did she mean by that?  
  
"If only Lord Wessex were here," Queen Elizabeth said.  
  
"He is, your majesty, right there!" The ugly little urchin boy pointed to the upper gallery, where the cocky man who'd fought Will was trying to get away. He turned around, sheepishly, and approached the front of the gallery.  
  
"I believe we had a wager," said the Queen, "You lost it today." And she left. So did Wessex, leaving through the gallery. The actors on stage left as well, all except Will, who stayed behind. Ellen caught up with Ned.  
  
"So, we're not going to jail?"  
  
"It would seem not," Ned replied, looking absolutely relieved. The actors grouped outside, as did Thomas, and watched as Lord Wessex came out to meet Queen Elizabeth.  
  
"Your Majesty," he said, bowing low.  
  
"Lord Wessex. Lost your wife so soon?" Wessex nodded.  
  
"It seems that I am a bride short. And my boat sails for Virginia on the evening tide." Ellen raised her eyebrows again. Thomas was married to Wessex? Since when? And why did they have to go to Virginia? And what was this wager about? As events commenced, Ellen found all her questions would have to remain unanswered.  
  
"I am sorry, your majesty," said Wessex, "But, how is this to end?"  
  
"As all stories must, when love's denied," said the Queen, "With tears and a journey. But those whom God has joined in marriage, even I cannot put asunder. How much was our wager, Lord Wessex?"  
  
"Fifty shillings," Wessex lied, and then, "pounds."  
  
"Give it to Master Kent," the Queen told him, "He will send it rightfully home. Master Kent," Elizabeth turned to Thomas, "As I fortold, Lord Wessex has lost his wife at the playhouse. Go, make your farewells, and send her out." Thomas, tears in her eyes, bowed to the Queen, turned, and went inside, with Wessex's purse in hand. As she did so, the Queen left, and went to her carriage. Then it was all over.  
  
"What are you looking at?" Wessex looked around apprehensively. Everyone dispersed, and most headed in the direction of the Boar's head.  
  
"Well, that wasn't exactly 'love triumphant' in any sense," Ellen said, gloomily.  
  
"It would seem that way," Ned replied.  
  
"Speaking of love, Ned, you never answered my question the other night. Is there anybody whom you do love?" Ellen asked. Ned paused a moment before saying,  
  
"I don't think you need me to answer that."  
  
"Yes I do," started Ellen, and then stopped walking, realizing the exact meaning of what he'd just said. "Oh." Ned smiled at her.  
  
"So, Mistress Ellen, are you joining me or not?" Ellen didn't even need to think her answer over.  
  
"Always, Ned! Always!" and ran to him. 


End file.
